The Dragon Slayers
by frostdragon64
Summary: AU. For the Smashers, dragons were once the most influential creatures in daily life. Now, as tensions between both humans and dragons rise, the Smashers fight between themselves, killing man and beast alike in order to find what really matters. Rated T for various reasons. Thematic ideas and bigger pictures abound.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: If you like what you're about to read, please keep tabs on this story for updates and such. I would appreciate it. :-)**

XxX

_Prologue_

Dragons. If anything, that's the word that everyone's heard at least once in a lifetime. They're a legendary, mystical species that can breathe fire, tear victims to pieces with their claws and teeth, and are capable of being violent and cunning. Killing is one thing they do wonderfully.

I know this all too well.

Here, in this realm, they were the cause of a war, a battle that tore everyone apart.

In the very beginning, they were the driving force in many of our lives. Whether we were looking for friends to talk to or something to pass the time, they were there. Excluding the ones that we killed, we had a pact. Whenever we killed a dragon for money or for personal gain, we made sure that the others, both human and reptilian, knew about it. We were closer than friends, closer than allies. The bond we shared was so intimate it was as if we were bound in blood. We were family.

Then, our peaceful treaty, so delicately carved by generations past, shattered.

And then came the war.

The dragons, propelled by instinctive self-defense and the right to stand up for themselves, engaged the humans in brutal, bloodied battles that left both sides even more rage-filled than before. We Smashers were free to do whatever we wished. Some joined various human armies to fight against the dragons, and others fought by themselves, working in pairs or trios. Some became the messengers of the dragons, denying their fellow humans in a broker for peace. One group had planned a paradise for the chosen few, once the rest of the humans and dragons had murdered each other. I will not say who did what, but someday, I'm sure you'll find out…

Well, the dragons are gone now. No more fighting. We pitiful, broken humans were done with the bloodshed almost immediately after the remaining dragons left for somewhere isolated. The remainders of the fighters here now seek solace within nature or in their lovers' arms. I sit here, tending to my farm animals and writing letters back home whenever I feel the need to. Unfortunately, several have gone insane, having lost their faith and hope long ago as a result of our bloodied conflicts.

But, there's been something I have been wondering for a long while.

Was it all worth it? The dragons are gone. We're rid of them; they're rid of us.

But what was the cost?

Dragons. We've all lived the beginning of our lives once connected to those creatures. In the beginning, they were sources of consolation, of wisdom, and of happiness. Many people loved them for their beauty and their majesty. Their shed scales were grand prizes for those who were lucky enough to stumble upon them. Their wings were the finest materials that anyone could get access to.

Dragons. They were our acquaintances. They were our mentors.

And in the end, they were our downfall.

~_Link, dragonslayer, follower of Xylaris_

XxX

**You'll know what that last "follower of Xylaris" bit means if you continue to read this fic. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Simple Beginnings

**Author's Note: Yay, update! Just so I have all of my bases covered, the early chapters of this fic could be a bit slow-going (insane amounts of exposition FTW) but it'll get better, I promise. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited. If I could, I'd send all of you cookies and lemonade. Unless you don't like either. Then I wouldn't. :P**

XxX

_Simple Beginnings_

The three friends sat next to each other at a bar, listening to the howling laughter of the rowdy partygoers and drunkards who sat behind them. Their dinners sat uneaten and cold, save for the man on the very right, who had gobbled down his meal within the first five minutes after getting it. His plate was almost completely clean.

Now, they folded their secret notes, hid them within the pockets of their tunics, and drank the last drops of liquor from their glasses. Any time now, and they would be out of here.

They didn't like taverns, anyway.

The young man in the middle fixed his stern eyes toward all who came near. His blond hair was held messily underneath a floppy green cap that seemed a bit out of character for him. A sturdy shield leaned against his feet. The sword sheath held on his back gleamed with a brilliant gold and blue sheen underneath the pale moonlight filtering through the glass window. His elven ears pointed noticeably out from under his hat. He had been both complimented and teased about his ears ever since his childhood. But, he was proud of them.

His two companions were just as striking. Both of them had deep blue hair, but the coloring didn't seem as if it were dye. It fit them in a natural sort of way, and no one took any time to point out the prominent color in public. It was clear, however, that they were both magnificent swordsmen and masters of the blade. They held seasoned auras that were tempered with the arts of war and the blood of their enemies. The elven warrior felt glad for such companions.

The feather of a white dove floated inconspicuously through an open window and landed on a vacant seat at the bar, completely invisible to the various dancers and intoxicated townsfolk. The edge was dipped in red and yellow paint.

Now was their chance.

They rose silently from their seats and departed the tavern, leaving their money on the counter for the bartender. Nudging their way past more inebriated people gathered outside, the warriors crept to the very outskirts of the town. They had no regrets about leaving the cozy homes and happy people behind. They had a job to do.

As the sparking lights of civilization faded behind them, they stepped upon a forest path ringed with lofty evergreen trees, low-lying ferns, and toppled trunks coated in sticky moss. The croaking sounds of frogs and the cawing of ravens echoed throughout the foliage. Beams of luminescent light emanated from the moon and alighted gently upon the tops of the tallest trees, and several made it down to the gloomy forest floor. A sweet smell of rotting leaves, fresh rain droplets, and exotic flowers permeated the air, spread around via a light, refreshing breeze.

If their target lived here, he had it pretty good.

They walked along in silence for several tense minutes, basking in the isolated beauty and mystery of this unnamed forest as they crunched through the undergrowth. A dark, enigmatic blur sped past them; it was clear that it had somewhere important to go. The crickets at the edge of the path stopped twittering whenever the humans stepped too close to where one was hidden. Then, there was a rustle, a void in the white noise of the woods, and then the crickets resumed their consistent chirping.

A beam of moonlight focused on a lone spot along the trail. As they approached it, the path forked off to the right, toward a section of the forest unknown to many. The trail was narrower and overpopulated with large grasses and bushes, unkempt compared to the rest of the road. The crashing sound in the far-off distance brought to mind the salty aroma and the gentle atmosphere of rolling waves, crying seabirds, and small boats docked at a worn-down, wooden pier. The other fork led to the left, to a place cloaked in darkness and silence, where the trees blocked the radiance of the moon entirely and where the natural sounds of a healthy forest and the background noises of the cold ocean gave way to strange cackles emanating from the edges of the shadows.

Their instructions had told them to go towards the beach, so off they were. They veered right, towards the breaking ocean waves. Now, almost all of the moonlight was focused exactly above the travelers, extending their shadows backwards and nearly blinding them. The grass swayed more so than the bushes and branches back near the village. The longer they walked on this path, the louder and the more forceful the crashing of the waves became.

A sudden, large crackle of twigs and dry vegetation far off to their left made them pause.

The warrior on the left, who was one of the blue-haired swordsmen, pinpointed a swooshing triangular object that reminded him of a large tail.

It disappeared just as quickly as he saw it.

He drew his sword, gesticulating quietly at the undergrowth where he had seen the tail. His two allies turned, nodded, and drew their blades. With stealthy footsteps, they continued along the trail as they listened for the rustle of dry leaves and twigs. They heard it again, and this time, it was somewhere in front of them. The creature was heading towards the beach. They began to jog, careful to avoid treading upon sticks or brown, dry leaves.

At long last, the white caps of the ocean waves came into view.

A large figure sat in front of them on the grassy cliff-top, its back to the humans. They had a perfect view of the massive, thick tail, the folded wings, the curling, ram-like horns jutting from the back of the head, and the spines that rolled down the back with seamless consistency and fluidity. The moon shone its bright light upon the glossy, turquoise scales that covered almost every inch of the monstrosity's body, from the top of the claws to the very top of the long, sinuous neck.

It was a dragon, all right.

The warriors slowed their pace to a walk. With their gleaming weapons held cautiously in front of them, they approached the dragon with reserved awe and reverence. This was a magical, god-blessed creature that could mesmerize you with its knowing gaze, rip you into pieces like a rabid bear, and torch you like the driest of firewood. What else could they do but hold respect for such an untamed, yet magnificent creature?

Still facing away from the three warriors, the dragon spoke with a rumbling, wispy voice like the tenor choirs of heaven. "State your business, humans. My patience for the younger generation has withered."

The middle one stepped forward, head held high. "We're here on orders from Lord Fyrog. He has ordered for your execution."

At this, the dragon turned around, showing his intimidating fangs and bathing the humans in the golden light that originated from his slanted eyes. "Do you know my name, Link?" Dragons, I must mention, have the amazing capability of learning just about everything about someone from a single glance, including his or her name.

"Yes, Master Skorche."

The dragon spat at their feet. "That fledging young one has need of wise supervisors to guide him! Why would he want me dead?"

Marth, who was the swordsman on the right, momentarily sheathed his sword and pulled a scroll out from a concealed pocket in his tunic. "Master Skorche of the dragons has been charged with the robbery of five heifers, eight sows, three hens, and an apple tree, along with the purposeful burning and looting of a coastal farm, killing all the residents within the building. Thus, this certain dragon may be dealt with in a way that both humans and dragons see fit."

Skorche suddenly seemed apprehensive. "I was never notified of this."

The third warrior, Ike, looked the dragon in his eyes. "As we were told, a scout recently came to you to tell you this news, but he was never seen again. Do you happen to remember any of that?"

The elder dragon stared impassively at them, an evil glint in his eyes. "I might, once I devour all three of you!" He lunged, slashing claws extended, and that would have been the end of them had Marth not pushed both Link and Ike out of the way. They rolled to the right, away from Skorche's gaping jaws. The winged lizard roared and struck out at Link, but the hero had his sword and shield at the ready. He blocked the razor-sharp barrage with his shield, and when the opportunity presented itself, Link stabbed Skorche in the side of his leg.

As the dragon snarled and withdrew his appendage, his tail came around and slammed into Link's abdomen, propelling him against a nearby pine tree. Link quickly shook the stars out of his eyes and rose unsteadily onto his feet. Just as Skorche was about to bathe the unfortunate hero in a torrent of white-hot flame, Ike lunged and sliced off the tip of Skorche's mouth. The reptile screeched and swatted his attacker away, knocking Ike against yet another pine tree. Skorche reached forward and pinned both Link and Ike to the ground, snarling with impatience and exasperation.

His mouth was halfway to their heads when Skorche froze. His claws loosened enough for Ike and Link to crawl out from under them. Suddenly, the dragon tumbled forward and collapsed in a heap.

Marth stood nearby, holding his bloodied falchion. A spurting stab wound in Skorche's back told them all they needed to know.

After a tense moment, Marth broke the silence by asking Ike, "Why didn't you slice off Skorche's head in the first place? Then you wouldn't have gotten knocked into a pine tree."

Ike looked a bit uncomfortable. "I guess I wasn't thinking; that's all…"

Link laughed with his melodious, elven voice. "Ike, you never think. Ever."

"He's right, for once," Marth said, smiling.

Ike glared at Link, Link glared at Marth, and Marth just stood there, grinning like an idiot. That was how it worked with those three.

Ike slapped his forehead. "Can we, y'know, leave now?"

"Wait a moment." Marth pulled the scroll out of his pocket and touched his red-stained blade to the paper. A spreading velvet smear appeared, tainting the otherwise fine document. Marth re-rolled the manuscript and tucked it away. "Okay, now we can go. Fyrog can tell by this bloodstain if we've done what we were supposed to do."

Now Ike scratched his head. "Um, couldn't he just assume that we took someone else's blood and—"

"He isn't that easy to fool. After all, this is the king of the dragons we're talking about. He has his ways." Marth stretched and yawned. "Am I the only one who's sleepy? I'm thinking we should visit Fyrog in the morning."

Ike raised an eyebrow. "Well, you were the only one who finished all your food at that tavern we went to, plus you didn't just get knocked into a pine tree. That would wake anyone up." Ike sat down on a nearby tree stump, careful of the dragon corpse that lay before him. "I'm thinking we should visit Fyrog tonight."

Link stayed quiet. Then again, he was always the quiet type. When he spoke, however, people tended to listen. "If we visit Fyrog tonight, we might disturb him when he's sleeping. I don't want to take that chance. Complicated speech patterns or not, he _is_ still a dragon. We should just find somewhere to spend the night."

Marth's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "And that's another argument won by the great swordsman Marth. How many is that, Ike? Five to three?" The gleam faded and was replaced by a sort of curiosity. "Why're you so anxious to get this assignment wrapped up, anyway? We can complete the consignment whenever, so there's no rush."

Ike scratched the back of his head and repositioned his raggedy, faded bandana. "Well, Fyrog showed me this really neat sword that would never dull, and he promised to give it to me when we—"

Marth laughed. "You wanted to kill that vagrant just for the loot? That's pretty low, even for you."

"Says the guy who stole his friend's sword and sold it to a blacksmith!"

"He deserved it for taking half of my food supplies with him," insisted Marth. "He was acting like a jerk, so I decided to put him in his place."

Ike rolled his eyes. "Selling that sword didn't make you any better than him."

"I wasn't trying to be better than him!"

"Now, now," Link chided, "we're all friends here. Let's find somewhere to camp and call it a night. Tomorrow we meet with the Dragon King."

Both Marth and Ike nodded. At least they agreed on some things.

XxX

_ The Dragon Palace_

"Milord, what's the lesson for tonight?"

Lord Fyrog sleepily raised his head at the source of the familiar, eager voice. "Scout Sorenor, I regret to inform you that there was to be no lesson today or tonight. Did you so happen to forget?"

If a dragon could blush, Sorenor came pretty close to it. His scaly cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of ruby as he said, "Erm, I guess so, milord. You know me."

Fyrog laughed roughly, producing a sound reminiscent of a wolf's snarl and a lion's growl. "I was expecting this." He yawned and stretched his veiny, fog-colored wings outward to their full extent. Lord Fyrog was never as muscular or fierce as his fellow dragons, but he made up for it with a deep-cutting wit and the mind of a seasoned tactician. There was a reason why he was the Dragon King. "Now that you're here, decide on something that I can teach you. We might as well use what time has been given to us."

Sorenor sat back on his haunches in front of his mentor. "Tell me something about the humans." With slow and gentle motions, he unrolled a blank piece of parchment paper and picked up a spare quill pen that was hidden in it. The pen was enchanted, so Sorenor could write perfectly fine using his clawed right hand. "I want to know more about their ways."

Fyrog nodded in satisfaction. "That's a subject I know much about. For a start, they have their own territories, ruled by people they have chosen, which is the same system we dragons use, except on a smaller scale. For them, there is no one absolute ruler who controls everything this realm has to offer. People can do what they wish, so long as their village leader or town mayor agrees. Of course, there are the few exceptions… but I do not wish to spend your time telling you trivial things like that."

"That wouldn't waste my time, milord," Sorenor said. "I believe that all facts can be used at any time. To me, there's no such thing as useless information."

"There's a good lad. However, I would like to move on." Fyrog raised his eye ridge at his student, and Sorenor reluctantly nodded. "For the most part, these villages, towns, and cities have no armies. We live in peaceful times, where both dragons and humans are punished for criminal, heinous acts. Whether it be murder, theft, or some other act of civil disobedience, both species are willing to see to the matter in as inconspicuous a way as possible. There have been the few occasions when human cities get into minor disputes, but they are usually settled quickly. If not, the other towns intervene, and all is once again good. For the most part, people treat each other with respect and friendliness."

Sorenor sighed with pleasure, momentarily forgetting about his scroll and scratching sporadic marks into it as a result. "I wish that we were like that. No more maddening complaints of misconduct or angry court disputes. You know how much I hate those."

"I have never heard of wishes accomplishing anything, Sorenor. If this is what you desire, we must try harder." Fyrog focused his vibrant, emerald eyes on a blurred shadow that passed by the brick walls of the open courtyard. The blackened shape froze and darted away into the tall grasses and scattered trees. "Enough of that, now. Let me continue with the lesson." He turned his head back to Sorenor. "There are the people who stand out from all the rest, however. I know several of them myself. Some are just villagers living ordinary lives who have special abilities; others are members of the royal families that existed long ago. Whatever their origins, they have cemented themselves as the sort of people who are always willing to help the sick, the poor, and the weak. Not everyone has to be a legendary hero with shining armor to accomplish good things." Fyrog yawned again and scratched the tip of his snout with the isosceles of his tail. "I'll end the lesson there tonight. I hope you got something good out of this, young scout. Some of the best things can be hidden in plain sight."

Sorenor smiled contentedly. He rerolled the scroll, tucked the pen back into its original position, and said, "Thank you, Fyrog. I'll make sure to remember this lesson." He gently clamped his jaws around the paper, turned tail, and began the walk back to his sleeping quarters. "After all, I did write every word down."

As he left, Fyrog chuckled. "Just make sure not to lose the scroll. I know how easy it is for you to forget things."

Once again, a surplus of color surged to Sorenor's cheeks. He bowed his head once, winked mischievously, and disappeared into the night, away from the radiant light of the candles.

Fyrog stared at the pale moon above as it hung motionless in the pitch-black sky. _If there is something hidden here in plain sight, _he thought, _I wonder what it would take for us to see it. Something is waiting to be revealed, but not even I can discern as to how it would reveal itself. Only time can tell, I presume. I know wishing won't do much good, but sometimes I wish that time would pass quicker. _He shook off the rest of his thought chain and shifted back into the position he fell asleep in. _All I can do is to wait for that bridge to come. And by the gods, may I be prepared when it does._

**Thanks again, and I hope to see you next time!**


	3. Simple Beginnings, Part 2

**Author's Note: Bit of a long A/N today, so feel free to skip. First off, thanks again for the reviews, follows, and favs. (At this rate, I'll run out of imaginary cookies...) Also, thank you for all the questions. Man, I love answering questions... :P (I am so good at making titles, as you can see above. ;D)**

**Next, a little info. I will be writing about every (I mean, like, all 35) character from Brawl, so if there are any characters you hate, -to put it bluntly- DEAL WITH IT. *puts on sunglasses*. Some will get featured a bit more, but just a bit. Hopefully... I so happen to be a huge Zelda, Mario, Kirby, and Metal Gear Solid fan (please, please, PLEASE don't hurt me), so evenly distributing... page-time(?) may be a bit difficult for me. Just so you know.**

**There will be no pairings, no yaoi/slash, and absolutely no sex scenes. Those just kinda rub me the wrong way... If you like them, that is perfectly fine with me, but there will be none of that here.**

**With that said, it's showtime!**

XxX

_Simple Beginnings, Part 2_

The clanging of metal upon metal was the first conspicuous sound that echoed through the dusty, predawn streets. However noisy and disturbing it was, the people of the little coastal town of Mikir were used to the racket. After all, this was an everyday occurrence, and the options were to either let the din drive you insane, move somewhere else where metal-smiths didn't start their work before sunrise, or to live with it. Most people opted for the latter, mostly because the town was nice and chilly during the summer and not too cold during the winter, so people thought it was worth it. Besides the weather, the sunsets Mikir got were breath-quenchingly beautiful. Nothing else compared to them, so maybe that was why so many artisans traveled to Mikir and set up shop. Those sunsets were worth it all.

The origin of the sound was a small, beaten-down shack, whose walls were once coated with a glorious mahogany but were now faded with age. The glass windows were tinted permanently with black smoke, and the rustic, tile roof seemed to sag a little with every passing day. The chimney was the only thing that didn't look a century old on the outside, with its solid red bricks and its even surface.

Once you set foot in the store, you were greeted with a wave of warmth and the smell of acrid smoke burning through your nostrils. The rise in temperate seemed to escalate until it felt like you were breathing in pure heat. The strange thing was that not everybody felt it. Some people couldn't stand to be in it for more than ten minutes at a time, while others felt absolutely nothing. No one knew how or why this happened, and it certainly put a dent in the success of their business. But, they still got clients who didn't mind, and that was okay.

The two brothers who called this their shop couldn't care less about the weathered condition of the building or the strange temperature changes. They loved it here, and to them, it was- and would always be- their home.

Luigi, who was the younger of the two brothers, was the one who would diligently flip the "closed" sign around to "open" before every work day. He liked small niceties such as those, so he was good for working on the detailed parts of a piece, like the pommel and grip of an extravagant sword, or the engraving on the bust of a famous city leader. Mario was the one who usually liked getting his gloves dirty and covered with grime. He rarely came to the front of the store, and when he did, it was usually to scold Luigi, get a quick snack, or both. All in all, they were a good pair.

They had managed this store, "Mushroomy Metalsmiths", for at least half a decade now, and people still came in to request art or a new weapon. They had it good. At least, they had it good for most of the time. The only reasons they got complaints were if the younger brother messed up on the detailing, which he tended to do if someone startled him. If he was scared, Luigi's hands would tremble for the rest of the day, and his work would turn out equally shaky. One had to feel a bit sorry for him, really. Once, the duo even got a complaint about the name of their shop. Since mushrooms were a favorite food of theirs, they decided to incorporate the magnificent vegetable into the name. Either that one customer was jealous of their fame or didn't like mushrooms.

That foggy morning, Luigi was dusting off the swords and daggers on the bottom shelf of the left wall while humming a favorite melody of his when the bell above the door jingled. He quickly tucked his dusting cloth back into his overalls, messily adjusted the green cap on his head to his liking, and turned to face the first customer for the day.

"Hello, Zelda," Luigi said in his heavily-accented way. "What can I get for you this lovely morning?"

Princess Zelda of the territory Hyrule was a great friend of the Mario bros. She had taken the throne after her father had declared a leave of absence a few months earlier, and so far, her people liked her even more than her old man, who had ruled his kingdom with a gentle, yet fiery passion. Her never-ending desire to make other people happy was why so many people were loyal to her family line. There had been the occasional "sour grape" in the lineage long ago, but the people had forgiven and forgotten. She, like many other rulers around the realm of Nynteria, adored and fully embraced the pact with the dragons. She was quite the likeable, polite matriarch. "I'll just look for a little bit. Thank you." Zelda waltzed over to the shelf that Luigi had dusted moments before, and he took the time to sigh in relief. "Where's Mario?"

"In the back as usual, firing up the furnace. You know he never comes to the front," Luigi said. "I think he is a little anti-social."

At this, Zelda smiled. "That he is. Is there any way to get that grumpy old codger out here so I can greet him?"

"I am not grumpy, and I am most definitely not old," a new voice said. Both Luigi and Zelda looked toward the back of the store to see Mario in his blemished overalls and red cap. Besides being a bit plumper and cheekier than Luigi, their similarities were obvious, with their brown moustaches, unruly mops of hair, and their accents. "I am just more…_mature _than Luigi; that is all."

Luigi crossed his arms and huffed indignantly. "At least I take the time to greet our customers."

"Heh. At least I always remember to ready our supplies and heat up the coals."

"Well, I always remember to turn the sign over!"

"That isn't as important as the furnace, you imbecile!"

Zelda looked between the two brothers and chuckled gently. "Is it always this way with you two?"

Luigi shrugged. "Do you mean: is he always this sour-mannered? Yes."

Mario went red in the face. "I am not!"

"Am to!"

"Am most definitely not!"

Now, Zelda laughed, a pleasant rippling sound that made both Mario and Luigi grin. "Enough of that, boys. What would you recommend for me?"

While Mario stood, paralyzed with indecision, Luigi immediately walked over to the shelf on the right wall and gingerly picked up a slim hand-and-a-half sword with a simplistic sheath emblazoned with bronze leaves and vines. In the early morning light, the scabbard and hilt shone with a beautiful, godlike sheen. "This would fit you, I think."

Zelda joined him and softly pried it from his hands. Her hands glided over the smooth metal, examining it with reverence. "This is amazing. How long did this take you, Mario?"

Mario frowned. "I do not remember, actually. How about you, little sibling?"

Luigi glared daggers at Mario before answering, "I don't remember, either. It is easy for us to forget these things."

Zelda unsheathed the sword with expertise and swished it through the air experimentally a few times. The blade felt as if it was just part of her arm, not just an object she was holding. In other words, it felt completely natural. "I'll take it. How much would you two like for it?"

The two brothers stared at each other and came to a silent conclusion. Luigi turned back to Zelda, who had re-sheathed the blade and had buckled the sheath onto the belt of her hunting tunic. "For you, it will be free."

Zelda's jaw dropped. "That's… uncalled for! You want me to walk out of the store with this fine weapon and not pay a single dime for it?"

"Yes," Mario and Luigi said in tandem.

The ruler of Hyrule shook her head, as if clearing away old cobwebs. "You people amaze me… I won't forget your kindness, ever. Thank you both." Still in a daze, she walked outside.

As the two brothers watched her go, they saw her talking excitedly with an attractive blonde lady in a peach-colored dress. Luigi nudged Mario in the ribs and snickered, "Why don't you go talk to 'Peach'? You know you like her."

For the second time that morning, Mario turned red in the face. "I don't even know her real name! That would be embarrassing! Really, Luigi…"

"I do! Her real name is Princess Trila." As if she had heard him, the princess turned to them and waved a hand. Mario's face turned even redder.

"If you know her so well, then why don't you go outside and talk to her?"

Luigi blushed, his cheeks turning the same shade of red as Mario's cap. "Erm, not today."

Mario laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I will be in the back if you need me. Say hello to the customers for me, yes?"

XxX

_Forest of Shadows, south of Mikir_

The deer ran as fast as her spindly legs could take her, sprinting as if her life depended on it, which it did. Her pursuers were getting closer, and once they closed in on her, it would be lights out. If only she could run faster… At least her children were safe in their little forest grove.

She tripped clumsily over a tree branch and stumbled headfirst into a clump of dried leaves and twigs that scraped at her eyes and cheeks. She could feel saliva dripping steadily out of the corners of her mouth. Blinking white spots out of her eyes, she rose on wobbly legs and lumbered forward, hoping to put a little more distance between her and her hunters.

There! The sound of rushing water! The deer picked up the pace, hope filling her like a jug filling with water. The river was a fast current, but with enough speed behind a jump, she could clear it without ever getting wet. The hope was that her pursuers couldn't. Then, she would have a chance. Then, she would be able to see her fawns again. Then, she could—

Something sharp and cold pierced through her neck, and she fell, warm blood seeping down into her fur. A second object penetrated her chest as the world became a tumble of green, brown, and black. She collapsed again, and she was sure that she would never be getting back up.

And then, she saw nothing. Nothing but emptiness.

XxX

"Got it." The human-like fox rose from his crouch, lowered his longbow, and strapped his quiver back onto his belt. "You have to admit: that was pretty good marksmanship right there."

His falcon-featured companion sniffed. "I thought you were going for a headshot. A nice arrow through the eye, perhaps. Maybe one right through the temple. But no, the great old Fox McCloud goes for a neck-shot." Falco clapped mockingly. "A round of applause! Ten out of ten! Encore, encore!"

Immediately, Fox's demeanor changed from wholeheartedly satisfied to unpleasant. "Since when did you judge my kills? The last time you tried for a headshot, you ended up shooting your prey in the knee and scaring it away. We had to spend another hour tracking it down."

"Wolf was distracting me!"

The third hunter, a stocky wolf-man, stuck his head out from behind a tree. "You let yourself be distracted, friend. If I were you, I'd focus more on the target and less on the people you're hunting with." He walked over to where Fox and Falco were positioned behind a large, prickly bush. "She fell somewhere next to the river. I suggest we send someone before the bears get to her."

Falco rolled his eyes, and Fox elbowed him. "I'll go. Just make sure Falco doesn't hurt himself."

"Hey!"

Once Fox had left to retrieve the deer carcass, the other two stood in awkward silence and debated whether to say anything or not. Finally, Wolf growled. "Something feels wrong."

Falco stared at him. "You've been saying that for the past several hours, now. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe you."

Wolf sniffed the air using his canine muzzle. "It was before we got here. Someone, or something, must have done something suspicious."

The falcon-man fought back the urge to roll his eyes again. "Yeah, yeah. If something bad were to happen, wouldn't it have happened already?"

"Don't jinx it," Wolf warned, locking Falco in his stern gaze. "Remember last time?"

Falco shivered. The 'last time' in question happened to involve a giant, angry sea serpent, annoying sea lions, and lots of screaming. "Okay, but—"

"No buts! We need to stay alert. This threat could come from anywhere."

Falco decided to stay quiet. Although Wolf had a reputation for being broody, quick to anger, and uncooperative during hunts, he was great with javelins and spears and had an unsurpassed sense of smell. There were advantages to being partnered with Wolf.

Fox came back several minutes later with the deceased doe slung over his right shoulder. The arrows had been taken out with expertise, and the arrow wounds were no longer bleeding freely. "The chief should be pleased with this one."

Falco shrugged. "Maybe. He's always the fussy type, interrupting important rituals to decorate his throne some more or add another unnecessary word to whatever Luc says. You know him. He almost ruined my Ritual of the Deity. If it did get messed up, I'd probably be missing a wing or a beak, and that would be… mortifying…"

Fox laughed, and Wolf smirked. Apparently, imagining Falco the half-falcon as not so much of a falcon was funny. "I could understand why you were so scared. Those rituals are mighty important," Wolf said.

In their tribe of hunters, farmers, shamans, and various types of workers, the Ritual of the Deity was the most important ritual of all. A tribesman or tribeswoman was brought forth, and through a strenuous collection of spells, incantations, and charms, had his or her body merged with the animal they worshipped. The sight, hearing, and smell of the individual were increased to superhuman levels, and he or she was given a special weapon that the newly-transformed individual would keep for life. What Wolf said was an understatement.

"I wasn't scared! I was just a little… uncomfortable…"

"Ha! As if!" Fox taunted. "You're scared of everything!"

"No, I am not!"

"Falco, it's okay, you know I'm right, so just go ahead and admit it. I won't tell." Fox grinned out of the corner of his mouth. "Everyone knows you're a scaredy-cat."

"They do?! Aw, jeez." Falco rubbed his forehead dejectedly. "I thought I had done a pretty good job of keeping it hidden, but I guess not…" He looked over at Fox and Wolf and saw them laughing silently. "What?"

"N-nothing, it's nothing," Fox said, snickering.

While Falco stared into the depths of the forest, Wolf leaned over to Fox and whispered, "He's more of a scaredy-bird, if you know what I mean."

Fox stared at him, unimpressed. "That wasn't funny."

He shrugged in reply. "It was worth a shot." He pointed a clawed finger at the deer on Fox's shoulder. "I get first dibs on that. Make sure you tell the chief."

Fox rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I'll remember." As the three of them began the long jog back to camp, something rustled in the undergrowth. Fox's ears perked up, and Falco turned to the source of the sound.

Wolf murmured, "I told ya."

At the same time, a hulking shadow suddenly lunged at them. The world seemed to move in slow-motion as Fox pushed Wolf and Falco out of the way. The trio came up on their knees and faced their opponent. Fox and Falco had both nocked arrows to their respective bows, and Wolf had drawn his javelin, a scowl on his face.

The snarling creature that stared them down was a ten-foot tall, mutated wolf. Its torn, pink gums peeled back to reveal chipped, yellow canines. The gray fur was coming off in patches and was streaked with dirt, pebbles, leaves, and the occasional spiderweb. Its paws were enlarged and coated in a crusty substance that looked like dried blood.

"Okay, that's just insulting," Wolf grumbled.

The monstrosity before them grinned in a strangely human-like way and swatted at Falco. With the reflexes of his namesake, Falco leaped backwards and let his arrow fly. There was a _twang _as the arrow left the smooth wood of the bow and a refreshing _thwack _as the arrow slammed into the being's left shoulder. The wolf yelped and stumbled, which gave Wolf enough to stab it in the chest with his javelin. At the last moment, the creature growled and batted Wolf's weapon to the side, but it still penetrated the thing's skin and left a red slash across its abdomen. It hissed and backed up, but Wolf wasn't done. He stepped forward and plunged the javelin through the creature's skull. There was a nasty _shwick _as the javelin carved a hole in its brain. As the strange miscreation howled in the throes of death, Wolf removed his spear and sliced it through the wolf's neck. There was no more howling after that.

Shakily, Falco rose to his feet and helped Fox up. "That was close." The avian archer turned to Wolf. "I am never doubting your instincts again."

Wolf snorted. "It was probably the victim of a ritual gone wrong."

"You mean, we just killed one of our own tribe-mates?" asked Fox, horrified.

"Probably."

Falco groaned. "This is the worst hunting trip ever."

"Well, at least we have the deer." Fox went over to the carcass, which he had dropped when he tackled his companions. "I don't think it was worth it, though."

Wolf scratched the patch of fur behind his right ear. "The chief'll have our heads if we come back late from hunting ever again." He sniffed around some more and turned to his accomplices. "Let's hurry back. I'll scout ahead."

Neither Fox nor Falco disagreed.

After Wolf dashed into the undergrowth, the two friends took a moment to gather their bearings. Fox said tiredly, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad we got Wolf in our hunting team."

"Yeah," Falco replied in the same exhausted tone. "So am I."

XxX

**Don't worry; there's not too much exposition left. As daunting as it seems, my plan is working! *maniacal laughter***

**Thanks again, everybody! :D**


	4. Dark Premonitions

**Author's Note: Today, this isn't going to be a note. This is probably gonna be a whole paragraph...**

**Thank you to everyone! The feedback so far has been very positive. I apologize if this chapter seems sloppily-written compared to the rest; Mondays can do that to people. They just do. (That's no excuse, but I promise to get my stuff together next time!)**

**This is the last chapter of what I like to "fondly" call "exposition"! (Yay!) The next chapter is when stuff really gets serious. After that, well, can I just say that everything will go downhill? Like, downhill as in the happy feelings start disappearing and being replaced by angsty stuff and death scenes... (Still no pairings, though... Phew!)**

**I'm thinking of posting decent fanfic art on my dA. If you want to check it out (later), then feel free to.**

**Final thing (because I sound like a babbling seven-year-old and Author's Notes are mood-killers): If you ever see a chapter without an Author's Note, know that 1. It's important that I not do anything to kill the mood (*ahem*) and 2. I don't want to keep the reader waiting. (You probably skipped this all, anyway. X3)**

XxX

_Dark Premonitions_

The mid-eastern plains of rolling, yellow grasses were quiet, save for the low breeze that whisked away the petals of various wildflowers. A stray vulture circled overhead, bathing in the tepid glow of the sun and crying out amidst the eerie ambience. Not a single path wound through the gentle hills. This cloudless, dry area was the epitome of the wild, and a secluded haven for the untamed creatures that lurked away from the borders of civilization.

It was a perfect place for the banished and the outsiders, for unacceptable outcasts like the two of them.

The muscular, dark-skinned warlock punched the tree he was leaning against. "That idiot, damnable farm boy goes, embarrasses me in front of my people, and gets me exiled. A farm boy, for Din's sake!" He relaxed for a moment and took the visible effort to lower his voice. "You know how I feel, hmm?"

Bowser nodded, his fiery hair swaying between his needle-sharp horns. Being an exile, an outsider, was something he could relate to. He had been cast out of his tribe shortly after his ritual had gone wrong, left at the mercy of nature and the bitter elements. That had given him more than one feeling of hate and bitterness, which showed through much too often. "I've felt this too. You're not alone."

That was enough to please Ganondorf. He straightened and re-adjusted his tattered, violet cape. "You and I have been fated to meet! We are bound together with the ties of resentment, of anger. We can accomplish many things together, including pay back those who turned their backs on us and re-write our destinies. There will be no stopping us! Once we finally turn the tide, there will be a place for us in this world!"

The turtle-man raised an eyebrow at him. Ganondorf sure was good at making dramatic speeches. _Cliché ones, too, _Bowser thought secretly. "What's your plan?"

"It won't be happening for some time." Ganondorf sat down heavily on the grass and gestured for Bowser to do the same. As he did so, the dark mage continued. "I have a… 'friend' who has told me the future. In this future, dragons and humans break their oaths of peace and unite with others of their kind to fight. Not every dragon or human will be pleased with this sudden turn of events. Some will go their own ways and isolate themselves from each other, and others will find the chaos to be quite… helpful."

"Tell me: are we to be a part of this?" In his mind, Bowser was salivating.

"Yes." Ganondorf gestured grandly at the sky. "In the vastness of the whole war, there will be a group of people," and then he dramatically pointed out a small, gray cloud that didn't look to be very menacing, "who will join together and find new friends in each other. The journey will be long and hard, and not all will be completely good in the world after. Even so, when is there ever complete good in the world?" Ganondorf stopped to snort and chuckle scornfully. "In this time of so-called 'peace', people pretend to be good and caring, but deep inside, they still have faults that show through much too often. But, despite the obstacles, we _will _triumph and reshape the future. We must. It's the only way the world can truly be a better place." Ganondorf lowered his hand. "Finally, we will be given what we deserve: a family of people who are the same as us, who share our pain of isolation, of betrayal, of misery. That is what the next several years bequeath to us."

Bowser sighed, his breath coming out easily and relieved. "I yearn every day for something such as this. Is this true?"

"All of it."

No matter how happy Bowser was, he didn't want to show it. The world around him had a cruel tendency of letting him down whenever he seemed at his most energetic and eager. Such was the nature of life. "There is a cost." This wasn't a question, but a statement, and a very obvious one at that.

"Yes," said Ganondorf, agreeing. "Many will fall, but it is worth it. People will see all they need to know to truly understand the world, and we will help. In return, the gods will be merciful and give us paradise in the form of new hopes, dreams, and alliances." He brightened a little as he said that last sentence. "There is hope yet. The price will be high, but things will change. Count on it."

His companion was slack-jawed, a priceless countenance written on his reptilian face. "How will we teach the world? Did he say?"

"No. When he told me this, he sounded almost… sad. I don't know why."

"Does any of this have to do with our lust for revenge?"

Ganondorf's expression darkened. "That was not clear."

Bowser grunted.

"However, do not find cause for worry. I'm sure it will work out." Ganondorf held out his thick, dark-skinned hand and looked Bowser in the eyes. "Care to join me?"

Bowser hesitated. He wanted this, but something told him not to. Something told him to turn around, hide in the forest, and never look at this burly man ever again. Something wanted him to strike this cloaked warrior down and never let him up. That voice wasn't loud enough to attract Bowser.

He stuck out his own clawed hand. They clasped their hands firmly together.

"It's settled, then." The two of them stood. "We will be a good team, you and I," Ganondorf said.

Bowser nodded.

XxX

Miles across Nynteria, on the eastern side of the continent, lays the ghost town of Sylvanus. The people had long since moved out, and even the local wildlife had migrated to greener pastures. There was a creepy aura to that town that no one had liked, not even the grumpiest of the elderly. Rumors abounded, but none could truly explain why the town seemed so dark and moody. It was said that the town was positioned on top of a long-forgotten cemetery, but it was also said that an entire nine-acre forest was burned to the ground to give rise to Sylvanus. No matter the origin, historians can all agree on one thing: Sylvanus had its share of dark, demonic secrets. It's best if they're kept hidden, for now.

Of course, with every rumor, there are the people who don't believe it.

That bitter morning, the man sat on his weathered front porch, watching the light downpour cloak everything under a gray blanket of mist. The water felt good on his face.

On his right arm sat a falcon, her chocolate feathers weighed down by the drizzling sheets of rain. Despite the pallor of her surroundings, her eyes gleamed fiercely, illuminating the individual raindrops as they fell rhythmically from the heavens. Her name was Callirus. She shared her name with the ancient god of the forest, which seemed both ironic and fitting. Callirus screeched once, flicked the water off her wings, and shifted on her perch.

Her owner stroked her gently on the back. In reply, Callirus pecked at the scar above his left eye. He playfully swatted her away, and she tilted her head innocently.

A sudden voice said, "I'm surprised to see you up this early, Jay." The man and falcon turned towards the feminine voice. "You're usually a heavy sleeper."

Jay smiled. "Not today. Rain does that to people."

"The early bird catches the worm." Samus wiped the water off of the vacant chair and sat down. "You have good taste. This is really relaxing."

"Mmm." Jay leaned back, and Callirus hopped onto his shoulder. "I need all the relaxation I can get. Bounty-hunting is a stressful thing."

Samus stared at him. "I thought you quit bounty-hunting."

"Turns out, there was a little band of thugs causing trouble some ways south of here. Must've missed 'em on my first trip there." He scratched his mop of drenched, black hair. "It wasn't too big of a job this time around."

"Nothing is too much for the great Douglas!" She puffed out her chest in a dramatic fashion. "'I am unbeatable!'"

Callirus pecked at his forehead again as he snorted. "You're right about that."

Samus made a face. "You're impossible to insult."

"Why thank you, milady."

She sighed. Sometimes, being friends with Jay had zero benefits. "What have you been doing lately?"

He shrugged. "Oh, the usual. Sleeping. Eating. Breathing."

Samus heaved a sigh and slapped her forehead. Jay laughed.

She took a deep breath. "Tell me more about your mission."

"Why would you want to know?" Jay asked. "You were never really interested…"

"Well, now I am," she said, glaring.

Jay held up his hands in surrender. Callirus moved on from pecking his forehead to his index finger. "Okay, okay." He cleared his throat. "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away—"

"Not like that, you idiot!" Samus slapped his forearm. "Start it like a normal story, please!"

"Fine." He paused, looking for the proper words. "A few weeks ago, I got news of a band of thugs and thieves stirring up trouble. I responded as soon as possible, and I made it down south in three days, landing in Portner."

"Portner's at least a week by horseback," Samus said, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, but the thing is, my horse was fast, so…"

"Get on with it."

"Immediately, I found the source of commotion. A ragtag band of villains was molesting a group of children, throwing rocks and blocks of wood at them. The rest of the villagers were cowering at their doorsteps, saying nothing. I was about to intervene when a dragon swooped down from the night sky. I was sure the thugs were finished, but instead of helping the kids, the dragon landed beside the rogues and began to abuse the kids along with those ungodly tramps. He issued a vile death threat; it was something about flaying them alive. Just as things were about to get really ugly, I—"

Suddenly, Samus shivered. In a voice that was surprisingly not like her, she said carefully, "What color were his scales?"

"I think they were purple. Why?"

Samus doubled over, grasping her head in her hands like her skull was about to rupture. "Sorry, I don't feel too good," she rasped. "Continue."

Jay stared at her in concern, but continued his narration. "I came in with my sword and slashed off the dragon's front hands at the wrists. It glanced at me once, screeched, and then flew off. As soon as he was gone, I took care of the bandits, but I left one of them alive for questioning. And that's it, really. Any questions?"

Samus shook her head, sweat beading her brow despite the brittle cold.

Jay tried to assure her. "Don't worry; the dragon won't be threatening people anymore, not without two of his four limbs. If he does try again, Fyrog'll get him."

She shook gently. "Yeah. I really hope so."

Jay glanced at her. "You need a break. Care for some water?"

"I'm fine; thanks." She rose shakily from her chair. "I'll see you later." Samus bounded from the porch, started into a run, and faded into the wet morning fog.

Jay thought about following her, but shook his head. _She might need some time to herself, _he thought. _That girl can be really unpredictable. _Callirus stopped pecking for a moment. The two of them stared off into the cloudy emptiness.

XxX

The screams of the dying and trapped were all around her. Tongues of acrid, thick smoke filled the air, clogging her lungs and nose. Flames arced through the air like deadly snakes, engulfing anything they touched in a blazing column of orange heat. The stars and the moon were no longer visible, concealed by the wall of dust and smoldering ash.

Little Samus ran past ruined homes and wailing people, sticks and shattered glass prodding at the gentle soles of her feet. Blood dripped from scrapes on her chin, elbows, and knees. Her muscles ached, and her lungs felt like balloons ready to pop. She grasped a single book in her arms, her collection of her mother's paintings and artistic sketches. Her mother would hate it if Samus lost those. Her favorite painting of her mom's was her first landscape, entitled _A Snowy Winter Forest. _They would spend hours admiring it. The time Samus spent with her mother while looking through her sketches and acrylic pieces was something she was looking forward to every night after dinner.

She tripped over a log, but regained her balance and continued running. Samus thought back to when she had injured herself while helping her father set up the fireplace. She remembered crying as her father bandaged the burns and removed the splinters of wood from her small hands. He had taunted her lightly, saying, "Bad things are going to happen, Sammy. You need to learn from them."

A dragon roared above her, and for a moment, Samus could see the scaled beast clearly. His beady, red eyes glared hungrily at her. Violet scales reflected the firelight dancing around him. His faded yellow wings tore the air around him. Flames licked at the corners of his mouth. He roared again, and a column of fire lunged at a nearby building. The roof collapsed. Sparks flew everywhere.

Samus passed a moaning girl cradling her dog. They were both shaking uncontrollably and whimpering. The girl looked familiar, but Samus couldn't place her name. Beth? Beryl? Bari?

The dragon swooped down for a second pass, his sharp, glinting claws gouging tracks in the dirt. In the blink of an eye, he closed his jaws around the girl and her faithful companion. They were carried off, away from the sight and hearing of those still alive.

Samus yelled for help, but no one came. The dragon maneuvered his wings, blowing the smoke around and scattering live coals and embers on the harsh wind. She dug her feet into the tainted dirt and covered her eyes with her forearm.

She heard an unearthly, bestial scream. Samus looked up to see the dragon's gaping maw coming at her. Her heart beat furiously, as if it wanted to break out of her ribcage. With razor-sharp reflexes, she flung her arm forward and threw her book of artwork down its throat. She could hear it gag and falter long enough for her to turn tail and run, but it didn't distract him for long.

The dragon came at her again, beady eyes glinting with a mad light. She heard the all-too audible inhale of breath, the scratchy beats of his wings, the snapping sound of his whip-like tail. There was a sound like a roaring waterfall, and then an intense pain scorched through her body.

And then, nothing but darkness.

XxX

Samus gasped, her head snapping forward. The rain was still gently falling.

She rubbed her eyes, aware of the salty raindrops trickling down both sides of her face. There were twigs and spiky leaves stuck at various angles throughout her blonde hair. She was lying down on her back, facing the bleak, sunless sky.

_Why am I lying down? Maybe I tripped… _Samus rubbed her forehead, suddenly aware of the large bump that jutted noticeably from her head. _I hope he didn't notice… _She looked back at what seemed to be the direction she came from, the general location of Jay's residence._ Next time, I won't run so fast._

A flash of brilliant lavender light caught her eye. She glanced to the right, sure that the dragon from her flashback was diving straight at her.

There was nothing there, except for a cloud darker than the rest.

Unsteadily, Samus rose to her feet. To her left was the rugged dirt path that she had used to travel east from the mainland. She reached out and found a rough tree branch about three-quarters of her height leaning against a rotten, mossy tree stump. Using the branch like a walking stick, she stumbled forward and noticed a quiet pain in her ankle. She had probably twisted it.

She felt it then: a shiver down her spine, as if an army of ants marching in single-file had made her backbone its bridge. Something clicked in the back of her mind. A dragon had killed her parents and destroyed her home. A dragon had nearly killed a group of defenseless children in Portner. Samus heard it then: a voice in her brain, demanding for justice to be served sweetly and messily, and in the most complicated way possible. She found herself nodding, as if that voice was coming from someone in front of her.

She felt the urge to do what the voice wanted her to do. It just sounded right.

_Good idea, _she told herself. Samus picked up the pace, hobbling swiftly along the path back inland. As soon as she got home, she would take a break and plan. Samus threw her walking stick to the side; why would she need it?

_This'll be a turn for the history books…_

XxX


	5. Scattered Ashes

**A/N: This was typed quickly, so tell me of any errors you see. I did some quick editing, but it might not have been enough. If you have any questions, PM or review. Thanks, as always.**

XxX

_Scattered Ashes_

_ Several days later_

The night air was clear. Not a single cloud hung in the sky, and he could see the stars in all their celestial glory. The rhythmic chirping of a group of crickets in the meadow beyond was an entire orchestra to his ears. Others might have called those small insects "annoying" or "dumb", but he didn't think that way. He had been brought up to his lively fifteen years of age while learning the most efficient way to skin a fox and how to gather the juiciest berries during the right season, and so had his friends. The crickets, and the entirety of his surroundings, were just some things that relaxed him.

Illyja was a city filled with grizzled, dark-skinned people who lived off the land. With over two thousand residents, it was the largest community of active hunters, trappers, gardeners, farmers, and fishermen in all of Nynteria. The people were all renowned trail guides, and their pact with dragons was inspiring, even to their ruling officials in Hyrule. There had been many an occasion where Princess Zelda herself came into the Ferolar province to visit the city and the native people she ruled. Even with the royal influence, the cityfolk had a slogan: "Here, Nature is queen." They all knew Zelda was a good matriarch, so they followed her lead without hesitation. Not many of them cared about the latest laws or political happenings, however. They preferred to live without connections to the grumbling tax collectors or to the peevish court marshals.

The boy sat on the small hill, watching the last horsemen of Zelda's royal guard walk away on their mounts, heads held high and backs straightened. He had always wanted a horse, and here in Illyja, that wasn't too hard. His parents didn't agree. They had called horses "bundles of expensive upkeep that don't do themselves justice". In other words: "worthless". After hearing those words, he had then stomped outside and broken four of his fingers while punching a tree.

He was beginning to get upset again when his sister nearly tackled him off the knoll, and he would have nearly rolled into the horses below had she not caught him at the last possible second. For the twentieth time that day, he resisted the urge to smack his sister. He shrugged her off and screeched, "What have I told you about pushing people down hills?"

She giggled and said, "Nothing, Roo."

"Don't call me that!" He hated that nickname just as much as he hated his real name. Rolan wasn't all that elegant to him. He had wanted a name like Phillip, or Thomas, or Paul, but instead, his name was Rolan.

"I call you whatever I want to," and Alli stuck out her tongue noisily. Spittle flew everywhere, including onto Rolan's face. "I'm your sister!"

"Yeah, you're my sister whose five years younger than me!" Rolan wiped away the spit with the sleeve of his sweater. "In that case, I can call you whatever _I _want to!"

"Eep!" Alli stumbled away from her brother and landed on her rump. She pointed dramatically at his nose. "There's a bee! Kill it! Kill it!" Something yellow, black, and fuzzy buzzed around Rolan's nose.

He quickly swatted the bee to the side, jumped up, and in a falsetto, shrill voice, he said, "I'm gonna kill you!" and then pretended to draw an imaginary sword.

Alli giggled, eyes shining, and drew her imaginary pistol with her index finger and her thumb. "Pew, pew!" The two of them went tumbling down the hill, but by that time, the horses were gone, and they were no long in danger of getting trampled. They went from yelling at the top of their lungs to guffawing so hard that they ended up coughing. Alli now had dirt all over her face, and Rolan was the same. Neither of them cared.

After jostling and tackling each other for a few more minutes, they both sat down on a smooth, blackened stone. Rolan wiped sweat off his forehead and tenderly rubbed the bruise that had formed where Alli had punched him on the arm. A moth flapped around the siblings, stroking the air with its leathery wings. The moth came to rest on Alli's forehead, and Rolan laughed. She glared at her brother before gently patting down her blazing red hair, which fell past her shoulders in tidy strands. Panicked, the moth leapt off Alli's head and flew away into the moonlit treetops. Rolan doubled over, snickering past his hand, and Alli playfully punched her brother on his bruised arm.

Suddenly, a strange sound pierced their ears. It was as if raspy reed flutes and pulsing drums were playing together in their ears. Alli hugged Reuben's arm tightly. "That was the dinner horn, right? Mom always blows the horn before dinner."

He listened for a few more seconds, and the horn played again. "Yeah, that was it." He scratched his mop of tangled black hair. "It sounds a bit different this time around."

Alli got up and nearly dragged Rolan from the tree stump. "We gotta get home before our food gets cold! Hurry!"

Rolan pulled against Alli's grip. She was pretty strong for her age. "Sis, you can live for a day with cold meat, can't you?"

"No," she complained loudly. "And what if there's soup, huh? What if _that _gets cold too?"

At that, Rolan shuddered. The two things he hated the most were flies and cold soup. Just his luck. He pulled his wrist out of his sister's grabby hands and got up hastily. "Yeah, okay." He felt annoyed that Alli had pinpointed his pet-peeve so easily. Then again, he was always annoyed with Alli anyway. He brushed his hands over his loose linen pants and looked his sister in the eyes. "Lead the way."

Alli giggled and ran off.

XxX

Along the way, Rolan had thought about things. Alli, for some reason he would never know, had decided to stroll through the woods casually instead of run her legs off like she wanted to. That gave him plenty of time to think, especially about how stupid he was to leave Alli in charge. Between parents who hated horses and a sister who liked pain and being a hypocrite, Rolan didn't know how he stayed sane.

In front, Alli was giggling again. Another moth had landed in her hair (why this happened so much, Rolan had no idea), and she lightheartedly swatted it away only for it to swing around and land on her hand. She would turn around a few times and whisper things like, "Thanks for leaving me in charge" and "Your hair looks pretty". Rolan was sure Alli had never said anything like that to anyone, much less to her brother.

_I have a scary sister, _he thought.

He took the time to separate himself from his sister and pay attention to his surroundings. The moon was shining gently against a backdrop of clouds that hadn't been there half an hour ago. Rolan knew then that he hadn't been paying attention to the night sky anymore.

They walked onwards for a few minutes before Alli stopped suddenly. Rolan looked up from his zombified trance to see his sister crying. Panicked, Rolan said, "What's wrong?"

Alli shook her head, tears dribbling down her face.

Rolan didn't know what to make of his little sister's predicament until he realized that he had no idea where they were. The ferns seemed a bit pricklier, and the night air felt maliciously bitter. He simply raised his eyebrow to hide his loudly-beating heart. "Did you do that?"

Alli nodded.

Rolan blew air through his nose, aware of the pale moon lighting the thick, bushy canopies, no longer warm and shining but hostile and cold, no longer wanting to accompany these children along their journey. The crickets, he realized, were no longer chirping. Without them, the forest was silent. He shivered despite his jacket. "Let's just take a breather and then we'll go from there."

Alli was quiet, and Rolan knew his sister well enough to know what happened next. He counted to three before she shouted, "If you had been paying attention, we'd have never gotten lost! You could have told me where I was going! It's all your fault!" At those last words, she broke down wailing, which is exactly what Rolan knew she would do.

Despite that, he knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her back. "Shh, shh. I know, Al. Sorry 'bout that. Next time, I'll be watching carefully, okay?"

She looked up, tears pooling in her eyelids. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said simply. He felt his heart twist. Despite the number of migraines Alli gave him, it still hurt to see her in pain. "I'll try my best, but right now we have to calm down and try to think this through."

"Okay." Alli rubbed her eyes with her jacket sleeve.

"Now, where did you last make a turn?"

Alli was about to respond when a rustle in the nearby bushes made her yelp. She jumped into Rolan's arms, incoherently babbling tide after tide of meaningless words and phrases. Rolan managed to catch "I'm scared", "help", and "save me". He wasn't sure what to make of the last one. He crept back, holding Alli in a tight embrace. With all the courage he could muster, he said, "Whatever made my sister yell, please show yourself." He hoped he sounded gallant, but he probably sounded like a wimp.

There was another rustle, and a lady stepped out of the ferns. Her hair was blonde, wrapped in a ponytail, and her eyes were a striking shade of cerulean. She wore a simple t-shirt made of a modest material and long pants. She seemed to be in her early twenties. It took Rolan a moment to realize that his mouth was hanging halfway open.

She raised her eyebrow like he had done a few minutes before. "You kids shouldn't be here."

Alli yelled, "My brother isn't a kid, he's fifteen!"

The lady stared at Alli as if she had grown extra legs. Seeing that look radiating from the woman's eyes made Rolan want to smack her. He knew it was impolite to strike a lady, but he couldn't help but feel annoyance for the person who scared his sister. Without taking her eyes off Alli, she said, "Why're you out so late?"

He started. Perhaps they had been out for much longer than he thought. "We were exploring before dinner, but when we went to go back, we got lost." He felt a grumble in his stomach and angrily patted at it. "Could you help us find the way back to Illyja? I'm assuming you know where that is."

She nodded, but remained silent.

A few minute passed of this silence before Rolan realized they weren't going anywhere. "So, erm," he started to say, "are you gonna help us out or not?"

The lady was quiet. Rolan was starting to feel slightly annoyed, so much so that he almost forgot he was supposed to be scared. With a jolt, he realized that monsters might be lurking just around the bend, waiting to strike at the three of them. Was it just him, or did he hear a long, mourning howl off in the distance? He felt shadowy hands made of pure darkness grasp at his shoulders, threatening to tear him apart and dissolve him utterly. He shook his head, hoping that the grasping shadows would leave and the howling would end, but it still lingered in the very back of his mind like a persistent parasite. Finally, he grabbed his sister's wrist and tugged her gently. "C'mon, Al, time to go." He glanced once more at the strange woman before him, and turned away, his sister sniffing quietly at his shoulder.

He had only made it a few feet before the voice of the blonde said, "Wait."

Begrudgingly, he turned around and faced the lady once more. The paranoia still gripped him, resistant to his will. "I'm listening."

Alli tugged at his sleeve. "Roo, we're missing dinner! Hurry up! Remember the cold soup?"

The blonde gestured towards Illyja's general direction, ignoring Alli's insistent whining. "There's some commotion going on over there. Some thugs made it to your village and are terrorizing the locals. Unless you want to get caught in—"

Alli's screeching voice stopped midway through another round of moaning. "Roo, we can go back and be a hero! We can save everybody!"

"Alli, did I tell you about proper grammar? It's 'heroes', not 'a hero'." Rolan turned away from Alli and took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, exhaling through his nose. "It's not safe to go back, is it?"

She shook her head. "Like I was saying, unless you want to get caught in the crossfire," and at this, she glared at Alli, who hid behind Rolan with a squeak, "don't go back. You'll end up dead, I guarantee it." She stepped forward and shoved them in the opposite direction of their home. "I won't be able to deal with them and neither will you two. The safest thing to do is leave until you hear word from someone of the village being safe."

Rolan pushed against the woman. "Hold up! How do we know if you're lying or not? Maybe you're just trying to get us in trouble with our parents!"

"Yeah!" Alli said, sticking her tongue out.

The woman's eyebrows hunched upwards. "Do you really think I'd lie about that? What do you think I'll have to get out of getting you two in trouble?"

They shrugged.

She snorted. "That's what I thought." Her voice took a gentler tone as she whispered, "It's really happening, and unless you want to kill yourself trying to see if I'm right, I suggest you run away. It's for your own good."

Both Rolan and Alli nodded now. They turned around and were about to start sprinting when Rolan realized something. "Hey, ma'am? I still don't know your name."

The woman looked at them, and her blue eyes were no longer frosty. "You can just call me Sam. It's an easy one to remember."

Rolan smiled quickly, took Alli's hand once again, and ran off into the moonlit forest.

XxX

Samus dashed through the trees, leaping over logs and ducking under twisted, low-hanging vines. Her heart was in her mouth. She hated lying, especially to two kids. Their parents were probably worried to death.

_Illyja isn't in danger, but it soon will be… Just like we planned, right?_

Samus growled to herself, and the voice stayed silent. Over the past few days, the voice that had given her thoughts of revenge had constantly showered her in profanities, words of rage and drunken spite, and vicious plans that even the cruelest, most sadistic bastard would never dare to think about. She had shoved most of those aside, only saving the partially useful ones for later. Doubt had built in her mind, but was washed away several minutes later by that same entity. She was starting to believe that the voice wasn't her. She would never dare think of things like those.

She knew that the voice wanted revenge, and Samus would comply, just not to anything else it wanted. That was her plan, and she would stick to it.

_It won't hurt. You know those other plans we came up with? Yeah, they're a lot better than the one tonight. Count on it. _

"Shut up!" Her yell echoed until it seemed to reach the moon. She stopped running abruptly, breaking through the last trees of the forest and watching the villagers of Illyja scramble around, screeching and wailing for something. Distinctly, Samus could hear two names.

Rolan and Alli.

Her head throbbed. What was she doing? The denizens were screaming almost hysterically, waving their hands in the air, running their legs off, setting their hounds on any piece of evidence they might find of the childrens' whereabouts. An old washerwoman with a pail over her head dropped it in favor of a dog's leash. She saw two people, a man and a woman, standing in the doorway of their home, hugging each other tightly. The woman's eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were wet.

_Go for it! They're too preoccupied! Now you won't have to be a hypocrite, lying about murderers and thieves! _At this, Samus imagined the voice cackling. _What you've said'll come true!_

Her legs felt like molten lava, but she trudged down the hill, quickly, silently, in the grasp of shadows. She quietly pulled a torch from her bag. The end was covered in pitch. Behind one of the houses was an abandoned fire, ashes still smoldering. She held the tip to the embers, and several seconds later, the top of the torch burst into a brilliant, red-orange flame.

_Ahh, yes, _the voice sighed affectionately. _Fire. A timeless tool of destruction. _The voice took on a harder edge as it said, _Their houses are quite close together. If one catches, the rest will burn easily. _It seemed to push Samus forward, towards the back wall of the nearest house. She could dimly hear children laughing inside the dwelling as the played some sort of childish game. _It's time. It's time to unleash your wrath upon the world, and return the hand that Fate dealt you! Spark for spark, tear for tear, reenact the painful moment where everything was taken away from you!_

_ No, _she rasped inside. _No. _Samus tried to hold herself back. Now, with everything laid out before her, she couldn't. Rolan was the turning point. She couldn't.

Her hand inched closer.

_Yes, _the voice goaded triumphantly. _Just a little bit more. Don't be hesitant._

Samus's torch touched the back wall, and suddenly, flames surged forward, like maggots swarming from one host to another. There was a rapid crackling, and suddenly, high-pitched screams filled the air, exactly like the ones so long ago.

Samus threw her torch at the wall, and the screaming increased tenfold. She knew no one would see her, and that was okay. The panicked yells of adults found its way to her ears, yelling for buckets of water and for assistance in putting out this demon fire, but she knew there was no stopping it.

The bottle was uncorked.

With the voice cackling madly in her head, tears welling in her eyes, a fiery pit of regret and anger building in her chest, Samus ran. She ran on, the fires now spreading faster than anything she had imagined, the whole of Illyja consumed in a billowing, cloudy bonfire.

_Well done, _the voice said.


End file.
